'Firebrand' Trevison by Charles Alden Seltzer (ebook reader library TXT) đ
- Author: Charles Alden Seltzer
- Performer: -
Book online «'Firebrand' Trevison by Charles Alden Seltzer (ebook reader library TXT) đ». Author Charles Alden Seltzer
âCorrect!â agreed Barkwell; âsheâs a-goinâ the way Rome wentâan Babyloneâanâ Cincinnatiâafter I left. She runs to a pussy-cafe aristocracyâanâ napkins.â
âSheâll be plumb ruinedâfollerinâ them foreign styles. The Uhmerican people ainât got no right to adopt none of them new-fangled notions.â Weaver stared glumly into the darkening plains.
They aired their discontent long. Directed at the town it relieved the pressure of their resentment over Trevisonâs habit of depending upon himself. For, secretly, both were interested admirers of Mantiâs growing importance.
Time was measured by their desires. Sometime before midnight Barkwell got up, yawned and stretched.
âSleep suits me. If âFirebrandâ ainât reckoninâ on a guardian, I ainât surprisinâ him none. Heâs mighty close-mouthed about his doinâs, anyway.â
âYouâre shoutinâ. I ainât never seen a man any stingier about hidinâ away his doinâs. He just nacherly hawgs all the trouble.â
Weaver got up and sauntered to the far end of the gallery, leaning far out to look toward Manti. His sharp exclamation brought Barkwell leaping to his side, and they both watched in perplexity a faint glow in the sky in the direction of the town. It died down as they watched.
âFireâlooks like,â Weaver growled. âWeâre always too late to horn in on any excitement.â
âUh, huh,â grunted Barkwell. He was staring intently at the plains, faintly discernable in the starlight. âThereâs horses out there, Jud! Three or four, anâ theyâre cominâ like hell!â
They slipped off the gallery into the shadow of some trees, both instinctively feeling of their holsters. Standing thus they waited.
The faint beat of hoofs came unmistakably to them. They grew louder, drumming over the hard sand of the plains, and presently four dark figures loomed out of the night and came plunging toward the gallery. They came to a halt at the gallery edge, and were about to dismount when Barkwellâs voice, cold and truculent, issued from the shadow of the trees:
âWhatâs eatinâ you guys?â
There was a short, pregnant silence, and then one of the men laughed.
âWho are you?â He urged his horse forward. But he was brought to a quick halt when Barkwellâs voice came again:
âTalk from where you are!â
âThat goes,â laughed the man. âTrevison here?â
âWhat you wantinâ of him?â
âPlenty. Weâre deputies. Trevison burned the courthouse and the bank tonightâand killed Braman. Weâre after him.â
âWell, he ainât here.â Barkwell laughed. âBurned the courthouse, did he? Anâ the bank? Anâ killed Braman? Well, you got to admit thatâs a pretty good nightâs work. Anâ youâre wantinâ him!â Barkwellâs voice leaped; he spoke in short, snappy, metallic sentences that betrayed passion long restrained, breaking his self-control. âYouâre deputies, eh? Corriganâs whelps! Sneaks! Coyotes! Well, you slopeâyou hear? When I count three, I down you! One! Two! Three!â
His six-shooter stabbed the darkness at the last word. And at his side Weaverâs pistol barked viciously. But the deputies had started at the word âOne,â and though Barkwell, noting the scurrying of their horses, cut the final words sharply, the four figures were vague and shadowy when the first pistol shot smote the air. Not a report floated back to the ears of the two men. They watched, with grim pouts on their lips, until the men vanished in the star haze of the plains. Then Barkwell spoke, raucously:
âWell, weâve broke in the game, Jud. Weâre Simon-pure outlawsâlike our boss. I got one of them scumâI seen him grab leather. Weâll all get in, now. Theyâre after our boss, eh? Well, damn âem, weâll show âem! Theyâs eight of the boys on the south fork. You get âem, bring âem here anâ get rifles. Iâll hit the breeze to the basin anâ rustle the others!â He was running at the last word, and presently two horses raced out of the corral gates, clattered past the bunk-house and were swallowed in the vast, black space.
Half an hour later the entire outfitâtwenty men besides Barkwell and Weaverâleft the ranchhouse and spread, fan-wise, over the plains west of Manti.
They lost all sense of time. Several of them had ridden to Manti, making a round of the places that were still open, but had returned, with no word of Trevison. Corrigan had claimed to have seen him. But then, a man told his questioner, Corrigan claimed Trevison had choked the banker to death. He could believe both claims, or neither. So far as the man himself was concerned, he was not going to commit himself. But if Trevison had done the job, heâd done it well. The seekers after information rode out of Manti on the run. At some time after midnight the entire outfit was grouped near Clay Levinsâ house.
They held a short conference, and then Barkwell rode forward and hammered on the door of the cabin.
âWeâre wantinâ Clay, maâam,â said Barkwell in answer to the scared inquiry that filtered through the closed door. âItâs the Diamond K outfit.â
âWhat do you want him for?â
âWe was thinkinâ that mebbe heâd know where âFirebrandâ is. âFirebrandâ is sort of lost, I reckon.â
The door flew open and Mrs. Levins, like a pale ghost, appeared in the opening. âTrevison and Clay left here tonight. I didnât look to see what time. Oh, I hope nothing has happened to them!â
They quieted her fears and fled out into the plains again, charging themselves with stupidity for not being more diplomatic in dealing with Mrs. Levins. During the early hours of the morning they rode again to the Diamond K ranchhouse, thinking that perhaps Trevison had slipped by them and returned. But Trevison had not returned, and the outfit gathered in the timber near the house in the faint light of the breaking dawn, disgusted, their horses jaded.
âItâs mighty hard work tryinâ to be an outlaw in this damned dude-ridden country,â wailed the disappointed Weaver. âOutlaws usual have a den or a cave or a mountain fastness, or somethinâ, anyhowâaccordinâ to all the literchoor Iâve read on the subject. If âFirebrandâsâ got one, heâs mighty bashful about mentioninâ it.â
âOh, Lord!â exclaimed Barkwell, weakly. âMy brains is sure ready for the mourners! Whereâs âFirebrandâ? Why, where would you expect a man to be thatâd burned up a courthouse anâ a bank anâ salivated a banker? Heâd be hidinâ out, wouldnât he, you misâable box-head! Would he come driftinâ back to the home ranch, anâ come out when them damn deputies come along, bowinâ anâ scrapinâ anâ sayinâ: âIâm here, gentlemenâIâve been waitinâ for you to come anâ try rope on me, soâs youâd be sure to get a good fit!â Would he? Youâre mighty right heâwouldnât! Heâd be populatinâ that old pueblo that heâs been tellinâ me for years would make a good fort!â His horse leaped as he drove the spurs in, cruelly, but at the distance of a hundred yards he was not more than a few feet in advance of the othersâand they, disregarding the rules of the gameâwere trying to pass him.
âThere ainât a bit of sense of takinâ any risk,â objected Levins from the security of the communal chamber, as Trevison peered cautiously around a corner of the adobe house. âItâd be just the luck of one of them critters if theyâd pot you.â
âIâm not thinking of offering myself as a target for them,â the other laughed. âTheyâre still there,â he added a minute later as he stepped into the chamber. âThem shooting you as they did, without warning, seems to indicate that theyâve orders to wipe us out, if possible. Theyâre deputies. I bumped into Corrigan right after I left the bank building, and I suppose he has set them on us.â
âI reckon so. Seems it ainât possible, though,â Levins added, doubtfully. âThey was here before you come. Your Nigger horse ainât takinâ no dust. I reckon you didnât stop anywheres?â
âAt the Bar B.â Trevison made this admission with some embarrassment.
But Levins did not reproach himâhe merely groaned, eloquently.
Trevison leaned against the opening of the chamber. His muscles ached; he was in the grip of a mighty weariness. Nature was protesting against the great strain that he had placed upon her. But his jaws set as he felt the flesh of his legs quivering; he grinned the derisive grin of the fighter whose will and courage outlast his physical strength. He felt a pulse of contempt for himself, and mingling with it was a strange elationâthe thought that Rosalind Benham had strengthened his failing body, had provided it with the fuel necessary to keep it going for hours yetâas it must. He did not trust himself to yield to his passions as he stood thereâthat might have caused him to grow reckless. He permitted the weariness of his body to soothe his brain; over him stole a great calm. He assured himself that he could throw it off any time.
But he had deceived himself. Nature had almost reached the limit of effort, and the inevitable slow reaction was taking place. The tired body could be forced on for a while yet, obeying the lethargic impulses of an equally tired brain, but the break would come. At this moment he was oppressed with a sense of the unreality of it all. The pueblo seemed like an ancient city of his dreams; the adobe houses details of a weird phantasmagoria; his adventures of the past forty-eight hours a succession of wild imaginings which he now reviewed with a sort of detached interest, as though he had watched them from afar.
The moonlight shone on him; he heard Levins exclaim sharply: âYour armâs busted, ainât it?â
He started, swayed, and caught himself, laughing lowly, guiltily, for he realized that he had almost fallen asleep, standing. He held the arm up to the moonlight, examining it, dropping it with a deprecatory word. He settled against the wall near the opening again.
âHell!â declared Levins, anxiously, âyouâre all in!â
Trevison did not answer. He stole along the outside wall of the adobe house and peered out into the plains. The men were still where they had been when the shot had been fired, and the sight of them brought a cold grin to his face. He backed away from the corner, dropped to his stomach and wriggled his way back to the corner, shoving his rifle in front of him. He aimed the weapon deliberately, and pulled the trigger. At the flash a smothered cry floated up to him, and he drew back, the thud of bullets against the adobe walls accompanying him.
âThat leaves seven, Levins,â he said grimly. âLooks like my trip to Santa Fe is off, eh?â he laughed. âWell, Iâve always had a yearning to be besieged, and Iâll make it mighty interesting for those fellows. Do you think you can cover that slope, so they canât get up there while Iâm reconnoitering? It would be certain death for me to stick my head around that corner again.â
At Levinsâ emphatic affirmative he was helped to the shelter of a recess, from where he had a view of the slope, though himself protected by a corner of one of the houses; placed a rifle in the wounded manâs hands, and carrying his own, vanished into one of the dark passages that weaved through the pueblo.
He went only a short distance. Emerging from an opening in one of the adobe houses he saw a parapet wall, sadly crumpled in spots, facing the plains, and he dropped to his hands and knees and crept toward it, secreting himself behind it and prodding the wall cautiously with the barrel of his rifle until he found a joint in the stone work where the adobe mud was rotted. He poked the muzzle of the rifle through the crevice, took careful aim, and had the satisfaction of hearing a savage curse in the instant following the flash. He threw himself flat immediately, listening to the
Comments (0)